


if i only could i'd make a deal with god (get him to swap our places)

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Kraglin Whump, Kraglin makes a different choice on Ego, M/M, Yondu Whump, because reasons, but not really, definitely angst, except it ends with something not sad and hopeful and love, fair warning, my brain's sort of tribute to the movie Clue there, now (almost) complete with the first of three different endings, sort of a fix it?, what if what if what if, whump for everyone :throws whatever the sad version of confetti is :
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: That light won’t stop buzzing over Kraglin’s head. He doesn’t know how he can hear it, past all the drunken cheering and carousing that’s echoing between the metal walls of the Eclector but he can.The bottle he’s downing the last of now is his third, but the liquor-sweet blur that’s falling over him is anything but pleasant. How could it be?He’d all but gotten his captain killed.Where Kraglin makes a different choice on Ego, and three things that could have happened after.





	1. you don't wanna hurt me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That light won’t stop buzzing over Kraglin’s head. He doesn’t know how he can hear it, past all the drunken cheering and carousing that’s echoing between the metal walls of the Eclector but he can.

That light won’t stop buzzing over Kraglin’s head. He doesn’t know how he can hear it, past all the drunken cheering and carousing that’s echoing between the metal walls of the Eclector but he can. 

The bottle he’s downing the last of now is his third, but the liquor-sweet blur that’s falling over him is anything but pleasant. How could it be? 

He’d all but gotten his captain killed. 

Taserface is sprawled all over their bed now. Well, Yondu’s but Kraglin feels after twenty-odd years of sharing it he’s justified to call it theirs. That fuck-ugly shitstain of a mutineer is laying there like he has the _right_ to, like he’ll be a _quarter_ of the captain Yondu is –

Was. 

He’d seen Nebula off the Eclector. Part of him wants to tear her apart, wants to carve her into pieces and lay them all at Yondu’s feet but he know that she owed them no loyalty. She’d only been looking out for her own interests, and Kraglin can’t really hold that against her. 

After all, he did owe Yondu, everything, and look what he’d done. 

The fresh burn of the fourth bottle of liquor down his throat does nothing to burn that thought out. 

 

By the dark lonely hours of the morning, most of the other Ravagers have collapsed into soused, snoring piles on the deck. Kraglin stalks around the ship, stepping carelessly around them as he tries to think of what he do, anything he can do to fix this. 

There’s Yondu’s fin, he knows, the spare he whittles on late at night when he thinks Kraglin’s sleeping. As far as he knows it’s not usable yet, but maybe there’s something they can rig up temporary? Kraglin’s not fool enough to think he can take on the whole ship, and the brig’s a Ravager brig - there’s no way to break in and sneak someone out without at least tripping one of the alarms bristled around it. 

He can at least try.

 

When he gets to Yondu’s room, that twig’s there. He’s letting his little branches furl out to hook on some discarded candy tin, but Kraglin knows that’s not what he’s there to retrieve. Why the little tree isn’t going for Yondu’s fin, lying there all red and obvious, Kraglin hasn’t got a clue but he says, “That ain’t it,” scoops him and the fin up and takes them to his captain. 

 

Looking at Yondu, seeing the vicious, haunted wariness that had never been aimed at him before, Kraglin feels like he’s been punched hard enough to knock the air from him and he can’t breath for a second. He looks down, makes himself inhale, says, “I didn’t mean to do a mutiny.” 

Even saying it is enough to have his eyes squeezing shut, makes himself want to put Yondu’s arrow in his gut himself. Kraglin had been a Ravager, through and true since Yondu had scooped him up as a skinny, feral kid of sixteen out of the stinking heap of Knowhere.  Tullk had been the one to train him how to kill with blasters as well as knives, rubbed balm into his aching shoulders when the long days tightened weary muscles. Oblo had bought him his first drink, dragged him back to the ship when his legs were too wobbly to work. They were his _family_ and he had let them die. 

He says helplessly, “They killed all my friends,” but it’s not what he means. 

 

In another universe, Kraglin lets Yondu go down to the planet alone, waits until he’s called to fly the Quadrant down. In another time, Kraglin leave him on the planet, scoops his frozen body out of the of the cold ashes of mad god. 

In this one, Kraglin takes them planet side, goes with them on their mad quest to murder a Celestial. He stands back-to-back with his captain, carving the whips of white light with his knives when the blaster runs dry. 

He watches Rocket hand the aerorig and spacesuit to Yondu. Kraglin knows his captain almost better than he knows himself, knows what Yondu’s going to do and there’s not a stars-damn thing in the galaxy that’ll let him do that so he’s swinging his fist up to clock Yondu in the still-sensitive new implant, knocking him dazed to the ground as he tells the rat, “Take him.”

Rocket looks at him, hesitates, and Kraglin says, “Take him, he’s your friend, get him outta here. Peter’ll need him after all this, and I already failed him once.” 

Kraglin swallows, takes the tech from Rocket’s loose grip. 

“Ain’t gonna fail him again.” 

 

It’s funny the things that go through your head when you know you’re gonna die. He remembers the way Yondu had all but rolled around on the floor, cackling hard enough to break a rib at the way Kraglin had screamed and flailed at the surprise orloni nest on his pillow. He remembers the first time Yondu had shot him that dirty grin, poked a taunting finger in his direction, and told him to come by after shift to help ‘plan the job out’ and the way he’d never be able to hear that phrase innocently again. 

He remembers the first time he woke with a broken nose from Yondu’s frenetic nightmare-driven flailing and the way Yondu had held him afterward, kneading his skinny shoulder blade in silent apology. He remembers how Yondu had just looked at him, told him, “Ready the Third Quadrant for release.”

It’s funny, except how it’s not.

 

Peter’s all dazed as Kraglin scoops him up, flies him towards the burning sky. He looks at Kraglin, confusion in his eyes as he tries to process what’s happening.

“Yondu was gonna do this, if I hadn't knocked him out,” Kraglin gives him a wobbly grin, “should probably punch him for that. Or y’know, hug him. He’ll prolly take it the same.” 

He can see the understanding dawning in Peter’s eyes, watch as he looks down, looks up, starts to frantically paw at the disk on his own chest. The clawing, primal part of Kraglin wants to let him figure out how to get it off, looks up at the hollow sky and wants to run. He makes himself keep going though, tries not to think on what happens to Ravagers who don't have the Rites of Ogord to help them pass. 

“No, what, _Kraglin,_ no, no, no,” Peter’s getting frantic, and Kraglin can feel as they break atmosphere, feel everything start to hurt, but it’s okay, Yondu’s gonna live, and Petey’s gonna live, and that’s enough for him to close his eyes, breath out, let go. 


	2. see how deep the bullet lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu wakes up on the Quadrant, wakes up and thinks _no_ , thinks _no, no no,_ and then doesn’t think anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO because my brain had three different endings i did them all. because i _can_ . there. also i've been up over 30 hours at this point yay so editing will have to wait until i have working brain cells again.

**in one world it happened like this:**

 

Yondu wakes up on the _Quadrant,_ wakes up and thinks _no,_ thinks _no, no no,_ and then doesn’t think anything at all. 

Peter’s the one that finds him, staring out the tiny cupola at the crystal powder stars above. He shuffles, reaches a hand and drops it like he doesn’t know what to say in this new, fragile world they find themselves in. 

“He told me I should hug you.” 

Yondu presses a hand to the glass, hard enough to leach the color from his skin, thinks, _look at the that, little lighter and it could match Kraglin’s._

He’d been blue, you know. Hypoxia does that. 

 

Do you know, once upon a time there was a man, and he’d never been loved until suddenly there was someone he couldn’t drive away, who stayed and stayed and stayed even when the man fucked up, and he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe there was something in his scarred-up soul worth loving. Except these stories never really do have happy endings, do they, so one day the man wasn’t good enough and everyone died.

 

“Y’know,” he tells Peter, splaying his hand so he can frame the light between his fingers, “I never told him.”

Peter looks at him, shadows bruised into his eyes, and waits and Yondu says, “Never did tell him anything what he deserved to hear.” 

 

That night, Yondu gets spectacularly drunk. There isn’t a better way to drown yourself than in the soothing bite of liquor, he thinks, and it had always been Kraglin’s way too. Like that night after Yondu had dragged himself cold-eyed and raging back to _Eclector,_ banished to the utter aloneness that awaited all those exiled for code breaking. 

There’s a rite, for first mates in these situations, like there’s a rite for almost everything with the Ravagers. The fate of the captain is not that of the crew and Kraglin should have stepped up to draw blood, to call him ‘no captain of mine,’ and challenge him for his flame. As much as he’d stood in stubborn defiance to Stakar, Yondu couldn’t bring his Ravagers down with him – so he had walked on board prepared to give it to him.

His crew had met him when he’d walked through the hanger doors, fewer in number than when he’d left, and with Kraglin at their head. He’d stood before Yondu and beat his chest twice, then all those behind did the same. 

They’d spent the night drowning in Krymellian brandy, and Kraglin had never said a word. He remembers his drunken self laying soporous on the floor, thinking if he did things like that he would love Kraglin for it.

 

Yondu’s the one to dress his body – at least he can give him this. He lays his trinkets at Kraglin’s feet and drapes ribbons on his eyes. Peter leads the eulogy when Yondu shakes his head that he can’t. In his throat there’s nothing but fistfuls of gravel and _fuck you for dying_ and _why_.

 

They watch together as Stakar arrives with the lights and the horns of Ogord. Then Yondu’s humming, crooning broken bits of a melody, trilling it mournful and soft. It’s the one Kraglin used to sing under his breath, when one of the Ravagers died. _Everyone deserve someone to remember their name_ and so Yondu will remember his now. After a minute, Peter joins in, and they stand and remember together. 

Kraglin never did tell him what the words all meant.


	3. unaware i'm tearing you asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ravagers come but it’s too late  
> Kraglin’s ashes have been spread dully among the stars with nothing but the Quadrant to light his way, his spirit gone, adrift and alone, with no ships to sing him on.

 

**and in another time it could have been this:**

 

The Ravagers come but it’s too late

Kraglin’s ashes have been spread dully among the stars with nothing but the Quadrant to light his way, his spirit gone, adrift and alone, with no ships to sing him on.

When Stakar boards them unwanted and unasked Yondu punches him the face. Yondu punches him in his face, and then screams in it, ignores the white hot flare of eyes and solar wings and turns away. 

It’s not really Stakar he’s hating though, because it’s not him that led all his crew to their deaths. 

Yondu’s lost the flame that names him captain, but if he could he throw it clanging hollow at his feet. 

 

Peter asks to stay and he does, for a while, but eventually he can’t so he leaves.

 

After that, he wanders. All the places he’d ever wanted to go, all the planets he’d wished he could see. Everything is washed grey and hollow though, and it's hard to remember there's life after survival.

 

Time moves inexorible on in spite of him, and more often he’s alright. There are beaches covered in a thousand glittering crystalloids, shaded by trees covered in leaves a thousand shades of red, and jungles where the sweet hot air soothes his lungs. Peter’s always comming him with the thinnest excuses, and it grows that tender, rooted thing between them. Somehow the universe finds itself invariably in need of saving, and when they ask he joins up with the Guardians, a time or two. 

 

But always, there’s this feeling like someone’s standing behind him, and no matter where he goes he can’t shake it. Every day when twilight falls amber, it’s enough to have him spinning around, knife in hand and snarl on his lips but when he looks there’s no one there. 

He wishes he had his arrow again to hum menace next to his ear. He’d left the shards with Peter though, because how could he use it, when half of his heart is gone? 

 

His tolerance for liquor had always been good, but now it gets so much better. He tells himself it’s to help him sleep – not for the way the sweet blur makes him feel fingers ghosting over his arms, cupping his cheek when he’s laying half-passed out on some neon-coated street sign to nowhere. The best nights are the ones he’s lying insouciant, in some cheap bunk in some low-down place, and just for a moment there’s the dry press of stubblylips on his.

 

It’s on Xenamene he finds out the truth. There’s the best Andorian artists in this steel-dark port, and if Kraglin’s brand won’t lift from his mind it’s time to brand him on his skin. With the rest of it sketched ragged by his enemies after all, what better scar to bear? 

She asks him, the artist, if the one whose mark he wants is the same one standing by his side. Yondu whips around, confused and wary, but the silence looks empty back at him. His face is a snarl when he turns back to the woman but she says, “There is one who follows you, who has not passed on. He is there, you see? He guards your back.”

Yondu’s mind is a screaming tangle of everything he’d he can’t let himself believe, and he’s leaving and he’s running but he can’t run from this, and then he thinks _oh, oh, oh_ and doesn’t want to.

 

He talks to him now, in that twilight hour. There’s never a reply but the warmth by side, and he’s still alone but not like before.

 

Somehow, he makes it enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next one will be happy, i promise! xx


	4. oh, there is thunder in our hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin wakes up. Kraglin wakes up, and he doesn’t really understand it, doesn’t understand why everything hurts because by rights he should be in a place beyond it. Not that he’s earned a place in the Ravager Hereafter, but surely, surely, the alternative isn’t this throbbing, unending blur of pain and rhythmic bleeps.

**but what happens this time is:**

 

Kraglin wakes up. Kraglin wakes up, and he doesn’t really understand it, doesn’t understand why everything hurts because by rights he should be in a place beyond it. Not that he’s been given a place in the Ravager Hereafter, but surely, _surely,_ the alternative isn’t this throbbing, unending blur of pain and rhythmic bleeps. 

There’s nothing but fuzzy, blobby shapes buzzing above him, and nothing anywhere around him makes any sense, so he closes his eyes, lets the pain pull him under, until his world blurs dark and numb. 

 

The next time he wakes, he’s blinking his eyes open to that damn beeping, and a familiar scowling blue face lit with a dull red glow from the fin swooping over the crown of his head, his expression glowering incandescent. 

Kraglin squints a little, trying to make the jumble in his head coalesce into something coherent but then the face is scrunching up and all but bellowing, “What in the _stars-damned hell_ were you thinking, boy?” and the noise makes his head ring with pain and he’s letting out a hurt little moan before he can stop it. 

The face scrunches up even further, before it disappears from his field of vision, and then there’s a sharp click, and sweet, sweet warmth is spreading through his veins and washing the pain away as it goes. 

He hiccups a little gasp in relief and lets his eyes relax shut again, ignoring the faint growl of, “Don’chu fall asleep again on me, Obfonteri, don’chu fuckin’…” and then everything is blank again. 

 

The third time he wakes, it’s to a old familiar face, one he wasn’t at all expecting and the dissonance is enough to send his already shaky world wobbling tipsily for a moment. 

“Look who’s decided to join the land of the living.” 

Admiral Ogord’s gruff voice isn’t one he’s heard since that confrontation on Contraxia, and out of sheer stubborn spite for the man that’s caused his captain so much pain, Kraglin can feel his shoulders bunching up against the bedding, his face pulling painfully into a scowl, and he tries to say something, but all that comes out through his teeth is a hiss. He’s not sure how Stakar ended up dead too, but he better not think that just because he’s somehow gotten offed that Kraglin’s gonna cut him any slack. 

To his muddled annoyance, Stakar looks down at him and grins. Just _grins,_ the fucking bastard, and Kraglin tries to look as intimidating as a man lying prostrate and discombobulated can. 

“You’re still recovering from the oxygen deprivation, son, it’s gonna be a while for everything to get back to rights.”

Kraglin wants to spit at him that he isn’t recovering from jack shit, he’s _dead_ but the words can’t seem to find their way from his brain to his mouth so instead he keeps wrangling his face into the meanest glower he can make it do. 

But then he hears something, hears a familiar voice and thinks _wait,_ thinks _no_ because he knows that voice, that’s Yondu, and it can’t be him, because Kraglin was so sure that he was going to live, so sure that his sacrifice would mean Yondu’s survival and he can hear the rhythmic background beeping suddenly kicking into overdrive, speeding faster and faster and his chest is hurting, and _no no no no not Yondu not him_ and then–

Nothing. 

 

The beeping is back to its gentle plodding march the next time Kraglin blinks groggy eyes open. His mind feels a little clearer, and he’s confused to see that apparently the afterlife looks a lot like a med bay. 

Except… this isn’t just any med bay. This is Admiral Ogord’s med bay, the one he hasn’t seen since he was a freshly minted first mate, all coltish and eager to prove that he wouldn’t let his new captain down. 

He squinches his eyes shut, opens them up slowly to gaze blearily at the ceiling in hopes that something will start to make sense. Then his vision is blocked by a scowling, purse-lipped Yondu who looks like he can’t decide whether to whistle a hole through Kraglin or kiss him roughly instead. 

Kraglin licks his lips, swallows and manages to eke out a weak, “Cap’n…?” 

“Thas right, Obfonteri, it’s your _cap’n,_ ” Yondu bites out gruffly, “y’know, the one you decided it would be a good idea to _knock out_ before you went on some damn fool suicide mission, yer lucky we were able to snap you up with the Quadrant b’fore exposure took care of the sapping the _rest_ of yer idiot brains.” 

Yondu pokes a finger at Kraglin’s chest and adds sulkily, “Like ya had any t’spare.” 

He looks thoroughly frustrated with Kraglin’s mere existence in front of him, so Kraglin automatically slurs a, “s’rry, sir.” 

It’s followed by a cough, as his painfully dry throat protests the sudden usage and Yondu huffs, turns to grab a cup off the bedside table and carefully lift the straw to Kraglin’s lip, resting his other hand gently on Kraglin’s shoulder. 

“Too late t’apologize, drink this before you undo all the work the good doc did fixin’ you up.” 

Kraglin does, lets the feel of his captain’s thumb rubbing at the jut of his collarbone soothe away the confusion, and the worry and the guilt. He’s still alive, and Yondu’s alive with him, looking at him with something desperate and yearning, and true. He's never looked at Kraglin quite that way before.  Kraglin's eyes are going wet, world blurring a wild singing blue - the blue of _yes_ and _life_ and _forgiveness_. 

 

_See, this is the story where someone loved, and loved, and loved, and one day the man knew he loved them back._

**Author's Note:**

> all comments are <3 and feed the writer's soul


End file.
